


Alien Thoughts

by ssa_archivist



Series: In Clark's Mind [2]
Category: Smallville
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-11-11
Updated: 2002-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-01 07:18:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/353650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "In Clark's Mind."  More thoughts, more slash.  More fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alien Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to "In Clark's Mind." Reading that story is not integral to

## Alien Thoughts

by Lemur

<http://www.geocities.com/jerboa_lemur>

* * *

Author's understanding this one, but it might make it more fun. 

Warnings: This is slash and you've been warned. 

Rating: PG-13 

Disclaimers: I don't own them. I just liked to put words in their mouths and minds. 

Homepage: [www.geocities.com/jerboa_lemur](http://www.geocities.com/jerboa_lemur)

Feedback: Oh, please, yes! Lemur710@aol.com 

_Alien Thoughts_

By Lemur 

The rip roaring sound of a chain saw broke through the morning silence and Clark opened his eyes, thinking precisely what he thought every morning. 

I'm an alien. 

He sometimes wondered what it would be like to wake up in the morning thinking something else. He knew he used to wake up with all sorts of different thoughts in his head, but now no matter how bizarre his dream or how deeply absorbed in Lana-musing he was when he fell asleep, he always awakened to that exact same thought. 

I'm an alien. 

"Clark, honey," his mother shouted up the stairs. "It's time to get up." 

"I'm up," he mumbled loudly. Not that his father's unexplainable penchant for sawing first thing in the morning hadn't rendered all other options impossible. He staggered out of bed, silently longing for the irritating buzz of his alarm clock rather than a chain saw. 

I'm an alien. 

His sleep-clouded mind seemed stuck on one note. He knew it was usually a few minutes before thoughts like school, friends and Lana got there. Letting out a long yawn, he idly wondered if he even needed sleep, alien as he was, and if, as a kid, he had seen that Pete yawned early in the morning and had simply pretended. Pretended to the point where he actually felt like he needed to yawn. 

Learning his origins had made him think things like that all the time, about everything. His whole understanding of himself had been ripped away. 

His mother had told him that all teenagers feel like aliens. Of course, he pointed out that not all teenagers had a spaceship in their storm cellar, or could bench press a backhoe or - she hadn't really needed him to say any more before she admitted defeat. Instead, she told him that it just made him extra special. 

If he put aside the gooey Mom-ness part of it that he liked even if he'd never admit it, he could agree with her. He _was_ special, even if he thought "freaky" was a better word for it. 

A million different questions surfaced in his mind each day. For weeks, his parents heard nearly every one over breakfast. They went largely unanswered - sometimes because they didn't have answers, but usually because Clark asked so many in succession and without pause that they never had an opportunity to open their mouths, let alone speak. 

Now that he thought about it, maybe he was capable of talking faster than normal people, too. 

"Clark Kent, I don't want you missing that bus today," his mother yelled, with a loving sharpness only a mother could manage. 

The bus, he thought with a roll of his eyes. He could outrun the bus. He could lift the bus. He could pick up the bus and carry it to school faster than it could get him there by riding. And his mom knew all that. She only said it to make him feel more normal. Other mothers had to hurry their sons, so she hurried hers. In his fully-awake hours, he actually appreciated it. 

Clark wandered over to his closet, blindly grabbing clothes in the half-light of his bedroom. A pair of jeans and whatever shirt. Another helpful nod from his mother: "blue jeans match everything, honey." And as for his shirts, all primary colors match one another, so he could mix with utter certainty that he would match. He wondered if his entire race were so oblivious to fashion. 

Eventually, he'd stopped asking questions, not because he stopped coming up with them, but because he could tell it upset his parents to be reminded of how little they knew or perhaps how little they had told him. 

Still, he thought about it almost constantly. He wondered about his biological parents and his - how bizarre to even be able to use these words outside a science fiction movie - *his home planet.* Maybe that was why he fixated on Lana so much, to have something normal and beautiful filling his mind rather than a bunch of unanswerable questions. 

He wondered what would happen if he committed a crime. Could he plead "I'm an alien" as a defense? But that one at least would never be tested. The long arm of the law technically couldn't stop him, but the normal-length arm of his Dad could halt him dead in his tracks. 

Pulling on his jeans one leg at a time, he wondered if maybe his race - whatever they were called - put their pants on _two_ legs at a time. Or maybe they didn't even wear pants. Perhaps they were a race of space-dwelling Scotsman, wearing kilts and sashes. He snorted out loud at his own thoughts. He still had tons of questions, yes, but not all of them were good ones. 

When he'd found out about the spaceship and everything - well, _weeks_ after he'd found out and stopped being angry at his parents for not telling him, and stopped being creeped out by his own face in the mirror, he'd done research. He'd always read news articles about fast runners or people with increased strength just to find some precedent for what he was able to do, but now he wanted to know in what ways he _wasn't_ human. 

Anatomy had come first - and hadn't that been an embarrassing day at the Smallville Library: hunched over a sleek volume that insisted on having HUMAN ANATOMY emblazoned on its spine, constantly afraid he would hear Chloe or Pete come up behind him with a "Hey, Clark. Wha'cha lookin' at?" 

He knew he probably should have tested his memory or his hearing range first, but he really could not have cared less about all of that provided he looked the same as the other boys without his clothes on. 

He thought he did, but then he'd never really taken a close look at anyone but himself - nor would he. The mere idea of asking Pete or his dad and he was blushing red for five minutes straight, humiliated by the thought alone. Books were a far less socially damaging and emotionally scarring route and he had found all he needed to know, along with a lot he didn't want to know, but he declared it to be all in the name of romance. 

After all, he fully expected to one day be naked in the company of a woman. And that would most certainly not be the time to find out he didn't look entirely human. 

Deciding to forgo a shower, Clark pulled a red t-shirt on over his head. He felt too tired to speed through washing his hair and he smelled okay, so that would have to be good enough. He had gym today anyway. No point in getting showered to go to school, get sweaty and take a shower. 

His parents never said anything, but his grades had suffered in the wake of the great revelation. Clark didn't know if they had felt guilty and didn't mention it, or if they were just unaware. The first one, he guessed. Jokingly to himself, he decided it was proof that he didn't come from a race of highly intelligent beings, but he knew it was really because everything sort of lost its relevance. 

In English class, he'd try to pay attention to  The Lord of the Flies, but then he would wonder what language his race spoke, or if they'd ever even heard English, or visited Earth, or if maybe they communicated by cave drawings or sign language, or if they thought _they_ would revert to cannibalism if stranded on an island. 

Which lead to, did their planet have islands? Did it have water or was it made up entirely of sand? Was it cold? Hot? Did it have a whole other group of animals unlike anything on Earth? And all sorts of different plants? 

In Math class, he would try to focus on fractions, but then he would wonder what sort of math they had and if the same rules applied. Did they all hate long division or was that just him? 

And his science classes were impossible. In Introduction to Physics, Clark listened to the teacher explaining the "unbreakable laws of physics," knowing that he could go out in the hallway and break nearly every one. 

Grabbing his backpack from the floor, Clark walked to the stairs and trotted down into the kitchen. His mother stood at the counter, simultaneously pouring a cup of coffee and reading the stock report, which was, no doubt, a quick review before she went to work at the Luthor mansion. 

Hearing him thump down the stairs, she lowered the button on the toaster, sending his Pop Tarts in for a roast. He smiled at the image. His mom, it was either a fullout country breakfast of pancakes and hash browns or it was Pop Tarts. No in between with this woman and for some reason he liked that. 

The screen door opened with a familiar creek and his dad walked in. "Good morning, son." 

"Morning, Dad." He tossed his backpack on the counter and stood to wait beside the toaster. His father poured himself a glass of orange juice and cast a sidelong glance at his wife. He had solved the mystery of her reading choice as well and was far less amused by it. He put on what Clark thought of as his "Luthor frown." Clark sighed inwardly. His father, the master of grudges. 

He couldn't blame him for disliking Lionel Luthor, Clark wasn't sure he liked him either, but Lex wasn't Lionel. Lex was...Lex. And he realized that if he couldn't come up with a more coherent reason than that for liking Lex than he was either still asleep or far too infatuated for his own good. Instantly, his mind whispered that it was the latter so he decided to talk and drown it out. 

"Thanks for the alarm, Dad," he stated with a grin. "There's nothing like waking up to the gentle sound of a chain saw." 

His father smirked at him. "I notice it worked better than your actual alarm clock." He stepped over to his wife and kissed her on the cheek. "I'll be in the south field most of the day, if you need me." 

"All right, honey," she replied with a loving smile, watching him as he walked back outside. 

Clark wanted to grin. His parents were just cute. Granted, as a teenager, he knew he was supposed to accuse them of cramping his style or embarrassing him by being so uncool - both of which they did - but he liked them anyway. 

They'd told him that he had found them and he enjoyed thinking that was true. Perhaps his race were especially perceptive, but then...well, the whole Chloe fiasco kind of proved that wasn't the case, at least not for him. So maybe it was more of a homing beacon. He had crash-landed on a world that wasn't his, but his heart had simply known which direction to go to find his home. Cheesy, Clark, very cheesy, he thought. 

When he was younger, he tried his hardest to look like his dad. It didn't make much difference since everyone in Smallville knew he was adopted, but he liked to pretend. He liked to look at his face and see an expression that looked like his father's or see that his eyes looked similar if he narrowed them just so. It made the adoption feel less happenstance. It made it feel as if he were truly his son. 

And he was, Clark told himself resolutely, glancing down at the red heating lines in the toaster. He was their son without a doubt, but it unsettled him to think how much chance had ruled that. Had the ship not landed in Kansas, had it even landed one hundred feet from where it had, he might be someone else's son. And that scared him more than anything. 

"Why am I waiting on this toaster?" he said aloud, distracting himself. "I could cook these things faster with my eyes." 

His mother laughed abruptly, putting down the newspaper. "It can only have a few seconds left, Clark. If you're that impatient, you're welcome to get a few chores done while you're waiting." She arched an eyebrow. 

Just then, the tarts popped. "Oh, look at that," he said with mock dismay. "I can't let them get cold, now can I?" 

"Wouldn't really matter," she replied. "I'm sure your eyes have a reheat setting." 

He grinned. It wasn't often his mom made a powers-related joke. "Nice, Mom," he teased. Smiling, she looked up through the window. Taking a bite of his "breakfast," Clark peered out through the panes to see the yellow rectangle of the bus rumbling down the road toward their house. 

"There's the bus now," she said. "Go, go, go." And in a blur, he was gone. 

* * *

Clark walked down Smallville's main thoroughfare trying to cleanse his mind of a day's worth of school-induced questions. And Pete wasn't helping. 

"You know what I was wondering in history class today, man? I was wondering if your species or whatever had, like, Prohibition or anything. Or if they even had alcohol," Pete went on, reminding Clark very much of himself from about a year ago. "Do you ever think about that kind of stuff?" 

"I think I'd have an easier time telling you when I _don't_ think about that kind of stuff," Clark answered. If he had to choose one decision as the best one he'd ever made, it would be telling Pete his secret - hands down, no competitors. It had taken some of the edge off all the lies and the deceptions to know that one other person knew outside his family. 

On the first night after he'd told Pete, the two of them had sat up in his loft for hours, discussing who should or should not be told. It was refreshing to have someone who'd even discuss it, rather than give him the preemptive "No" his parents always gave him. In the end, though, he and Pete had come to the very same decision. 

Chloe had been the hardest because it went against their nature to lie to her, but they both worried that even she wouldn't be able to resist a story this big and even if she never printed a word about it, she would go digging into family histories and wild theories that Clark wasn't sure he wanted to hear. It was best she not know. 

Lana and Lex had been easier decisions to make. Lana pushed and prodded Clark to be honest, but he and Pete had resolutely agreed that she shouldn't know. It was odd, but having Pete in on it made lying to the others easier and not just because there was now a second person to help come up with reasonable excuses for him being at the scene of so many crimes. Pete had been hurt by his deception, even if Clark really thought of it as more of an "omission," and so he was able to make informed choices. If he honestly thought it was better the person continue to be lied to, Clark had to believe him. He'd said that it bothered Lana that he kept secrets, but his secret could put her in danger. That was all Clark needed to hear. 

On the subject of Lex, Pete was less sympathetic and his decision was made largely on his wellstated stance that "I just don't like the guy." So, telling Lex was made solely his choice and Clark didn't enjoy that. In the end, he'd decided not to tell anyone but Pete. He trusted Lex, but there were too many doubts, too many variables. Every time he even considered telling him, he heard little Ryan's voice in his head telling him to watch out for Lex. *There's a lot of darkness he keeps from the world.* 

Clark preferred to believe in people, but he couldn't entirely ignore the advice of a boy who could read minds. With that tag attached to Lex now, Clark couldn't, in good conscience, give him the sort of power over him that telling him would provide...well, any _more_ power over him. Clark didn't look into it, but he suspected that was a factor as well: Lex already had a great deal of inexplicable power and influence in his life, he didn't really need to give him more. It made him far too vulnerable and if there was anything he didn't need to be around Lex it was more vulnerable. 

"So what do you do with all these questions?" Pete asked. 

"I just ask them - silently, to myself," he answered pointedly. 

Pete laughed. "It doesn't bug you not knowing?" Clark let his look be his answer. "All right, good point. It's not like it couldn't not bother you." 

"I don't think Chloe would approve of that sentence." 

"Well, I said what I meant," Pete stated resolutely. 

"Actually, I don't think you did," he responded. "I think you had too many negatives." 

"Oh, that's right," Pete joked. "I forgot that you're junior intrepid reporter now; your five year goal." He teasingly punched Clark on the arm. It might have been his imagination, but it seemed that Pete punched him harder now that he knew he was indestructible. 

"Hey, do you have time to grab a cup of coffee before heading home?" 

"No, I have to meet my mom at the courthouse and do my chores. I'm already behind on them. Wanna come help, put your super-speed to good use?" Pete grinned. 

"Not at all," Clark answered, grinning back. "I have my own to do tonight." 

"And you're still going to go have coffee?" 

"Sure, if I'm not running late, how can I put my super-speed to good use?" 

With a teasing roll of his eyes, Pete laughed. "See you tomorrow, Clark." 

"See ya, Pete." Pete turned down a sidestreet, bound for the Smallville Courthouse. He had once jokingly told Clark that the real reason he didn't think they should tell anyone was because it made it less cool for him. Clark had laughed, but he'd also believed it. Pete had been his best friend as long as he could remember. It just made sense that he should be the first to know, the only one to know. He didn't want to take away that bond so quickly. 

It also made all his questions feel less stupid knowing that Pete thought of ones just as ridiculous. He'd gotten used to the questions. Now they were only an endless drone in the back of his mind, thoughts never fully-formed, but still understood. They floated through his mind without pause, but he didn't acknowledge them all. He had a life, after all, alien or not. 

And heading toward the Talon, he knew he was minutes away from seeing one of the brightest spots in his life. His pace jumped a little in anticipation. He liked knowing that he could go to the Talon with a good ninety percent chance of seeing Lana. Granted, even before they'd ever spoken, he'd memorized her class schedule and knew where to stand to see her coming out of class from a distance, but now they were friends...or something like that. 

Friends. Clark thought he used the word too liberally or maybe not liberally enough, he wasn't sure. Was someone your friend if she made you nervous? Was she friend if you always checked your hair before you saw her? 

He'd never done that with Chloe, well, he never used to. But now he knew that Chloe liked him or had liked him, as bizarre as that notion was, so it felt weird to be around her and not make some effort to be attractive. But then it felt weird to make an effort at all because that could be construed as leading her on or encouraging her or whatever - none of which he should be doing, he told himself. He didn't like to think about how many times that debate had sent him into the Torch office with a head of half-combed hair. 

So was Lana his friend? Yes and no. He enjoyed her company, he liked her sense of humor and her way of thinking, but always there was this inching. Inching toward something else, towards redefinition and so they were never...settled. That's the part that Clark decided felt strange; they were never settled. Friendships were supposed to be comfortable and - it was like when his mom put the ancient sheets with worn elastic on his bed: he could never get comfortable because the sheets kept shifting. 

Plus, their conversations were always strained, not the easy, flighty, "I can say whatever I want because you're not looking for a deeper meaning" exchanges he could share with Pete, the kind he used to share with Chloe. If he told Lana that he'd like to help her at the Talon, evidently what she heard was that he'd like to spend time with her alone, which might have been what he meant, but he didn't like her deciding that for him. 

Clark didn't particularly care for subtext, mostly because he was lousy at deciphering it. With Lana, he had to scan everything she said for subtext and clearly, he had missed it a couple hundred times. He hadn't even had a clue about Chloe and apparently she wasn't exactly being covert. 

He told himself it was because he couldn't think like a girl. He liked that excuse because it was the manly reason. The real reason was probably because he was a "guy." But even in that term there was a subtlety he didn't quite understand. 

Lex could tread those waters, though. Clark had no doubts that Lex could out subtext any girl in Smallville High. He was a master of it. He could make "Help yourself to a glass of brandy" sound like a death threat and that was just...cool. He and Lex could have entire conversations of pure subtext, not one-shot accidental subtext from an oblivious farm boy. 

Clark felt smarter around Lex, cleverer, which was extremely backwards since he knew scores less. Most of the time, he had to take Lex's word when he cited quotes from Napoleon, Shakespeare or Nietzsche. But he was getting better. 

Understanding Lex had taken almost as much research time as accepting his alien origins. He'd gone to the library again and this time checked out a couple of big, lofty books he'd seen on Lex's shelf - he would have borrowed them, but then Lex might have asked him questions and Clark could never dazzle him with his knowledge if he had to ask how to pronounce the titles. 

Sadly, the books had proved too lofty and accustomed though he was to his own philosophical and pointless "what if" thoughts, he could not fathom battle tactics, sonnets and recipes for war. Even haiku had made his head feel full of cobwebs and mothballs, like he never used it. 

In the end, he had ended up checking out a copy of _Bartlett's Familiar Quotations_ and memorizing a few of the more Lex-like ones in the hopes of one day naming the author of a quote before Lex could tell him. It would be worth the loss of two months of Sunday afternoons just to see the look on Lex's face if he ever managed to do it. 

He liked the quick back and forth of their talks, he enjoyed trying to figure out later what Lex had really been saying and if, in fact, he had actually managed to keep up. The subtext felt different with him because it actually _was_ a game as opposed to just feeling like one. 

He stepped through the Talon's glass doors and into the familiar surroundings. There, at the counter, was the beautiful and lovely Lana Lang. She smiled and all coherent thought left Clark's mind. 

But then he realized that she wasn't smiling at him. No, that flash of ethereal beauty was being wasted on Andrew Simmons, or as Clark was currently thinking of him, "some jerk from school." 

"Would it be easier if I came by here?" Andrew was saying, being far more obvious than Clark ever dared. 

"That'd be great," Lana answered. "My shift's over at six." Clark stared. If his jaw unhinged, it would have been on the floor. 

"Great," the jerk said with a smile. "I'll see you Saturday, then." 

As Andrew left, he passed with an innocent "Hi, Clark" and Clark couldn't recall the last time he had disliked the sound of his own name more. And Lana! She had said yes. She'd accepted a date when she belonged...well, no, belonged was too strong a word. Clark knew that he hadn't _exactly_ made his move, but surely there was a way to put a hold on a girl or something, like a down payment. 

The minute the thought occurred to him, he knew Chloe would have slapped him for it. And he probably would have deserved it. 

"Hey, Lana," he greeted, pasting a casual smile on his face. 

"Hi, Clark." She looked up at him and smiled warmly. Suddenly, a slap would have been quite helpful because Clark momentarily forgot his own recently loathed name. No girl in Smallville had a smile like Lana Lang. 

"So, uh, you going out with Andrew Simmons?" He tried his best to sound casual, but he didn't think he'd accomplished it. Maybe it was how he phrased the question. 

"I am," Lana replied, somewhat coolly. "Is there some reason why I shouldn't?" She locked her eyes on him and he suddenly panicked. He'd just arrived and already they were in subtext zone! 

In a flash, he tried to reason it all out. He and Lana almost definitely liked one another, but neither one of them had really done anything about it. And flash-pan misogyny aside, he knew he could not own her, lease her or borrow her. He simply could not stake any claim - or give any reason that wouldn't proclaim his mind to be firmly rooted in the Dark Ages. 

"No. No, of course not, Lana," he answered, proud of himself for being so modern. "I was just wondering." 

Lana shrugged. "All right then." She grabbed a mug from the counter. "Did you want some coffee?" 

Knowing the coffee was warm in his hands even if he couldn't entirely feel it, Clark eased back into his favorite chair, glad that he didn't have to worry about caffeine stunting his growth. In fact, he secretly hoped it would. It was possible he came from a race of giants, but he felt plenty tall enough as it was. 

He liked this chair best for the view it afforded: tilted just enough to give him full peripheral sight of Lana at the counter, but still aimed at the street through the window where he could feign interest immediately should Lana glance his way. It was perfect. Lana continued her bustling behind the counter, her white sweater making her only a flash of white and ebony on the periphery. 

She was so graceful, or at least he thought so. So small and thin, delicate even, but so powerful when she needed to be, when she realized she could be. He didn't always like playing the hero. It was too much pressure to know that he could feasibly rescue people from murder and car troubles alike, but for Lana he liked being a hero. He liked having someone lovely and warm to protect. 

And the fact that he was occasionally rewarded with a kiss on the cheek or a hug never hurt either. 

It caused too much pain to think about, but Clark knew that he also protected her out of a sense of guilt. It was his arrival on this planet - this planet that wasn't his though it still boggled his mind to think of it that way - that had killed her parents. It felt like some grotesque twist of fate: the very same moment that brought him to his parents had taken hers from her. 

Logically, he knew he had no control over it. He didn't even remember that day, but the doubts and concerns remained. He didn't remember, which meant that he might not remember being able to see out of the ship as it rocketed toward Smallville, or worse, that he was even piloting it, though the idea seemed absurd. He simply didn't know how much he had to do with it. He knew nothing. And he worried that that was worse than knowing. 

But he wasn't sure he would take it all back even if he could. If some mystical force or angel named Clarence came down and told him he could change it all, make it so he never came to Earth, make it so Lana's parents never died and half the town weren't mutated by meteor rock radiation, make it so that - so that Lex even still had his hair, he wasn't sure he could do it. If he did, he would also make it so his parents had never had a child. 

Logic dictated that the heartbreak of two was better than the heartbreak of dozens, but Clark wasn't exactly logical when it came to his family. He was like his father that way. As much trouble as he had been and would always be because of what he was, they loved him and he was still the brightest spot in their lives. It was mushy and it was embarrassing, but Clark knew all of that. He could never willingly cause his parents pain. So he would simply have to fix as much as he could from here. 

The idea of winking himself out of existence wasn't so appealing anyway. He tried to be selfless or whatever that term was that Chloe used sometimes...self-actualized, but he wasn't. He loved his family and his friends. He loved Lana, and he wouldn't want to give up knowing any of them. 

"Afternoon, Clark." He looked up to see Lex standing beside him and he vaguely wondered if he practiced at being that instantly intimidating. 

"Hey, Lex. What're you doing here?" 

In one enviably graceful move, Lex sat down in the chair opposite him. "I own the place. Technically, I have a better reason than you for being here." He smiled slightly. As usual, Clark smiled in response, feeling that he should really learn Lex's economy of expression. His own smiles felt like they were too high a wattage or something. "But I think we're here for the same reason," Lex continued, nodding his head toward the approaching Lana. "I have a meeting with the managerial staff." 

"Hi, Lex. Thanks for coming by," Lana said, joining them with a file folder in her hands. Clark stood to leave them to their business talk. 

"You can stay, Clark," Lex offered. "Unless you're planning to open a rival coffeehouse." 

Giving a lopsided smile that he just knew looked stupid, Clark sat back down. "Definitely not." Before he could gallantly hand over his seat, Lana walked over to grab another of the cushy chairs. Super-speed, increased strength and still he couldn't pay enough attention to make sure the girl he liked didn't have to haul over her own seat. 

However, a moment later, he was rather happy he was a cad. Lana pushed the chair the few feet to bring it in league with his and Lex's seats. Sitting down, she grabbed the arms of the chair and scooted it forward the last remaining millimeters to make it a comfortable talking distance. 

And as she did so, she leaned over, causing the V-neck of her sweater to gap. Clark saw only a glimpse of something white and satiny and two curves of skin before she righted herself in her chair and regarded Lex professionally. Suddenly, Clark's throat felt dry and his eyes began to dully sting. He glanced at Lex, to see if he'd noticed, which he evidently hadn't, but either way, it was the wrong move on Clark's part. 

At that exact moment, Lex, settling in his seat, rested his arm on the back of the chair and leaned back. He, of course, betrayed no span of skin - theoretically the _existence_ of skin had to be assumed since Lex was always so impeccably dressed - but with him it was always angles anyway. And the sudden configuration of his limbs: bent arm, slanted torso, straight legs, combined with that ever-present aura of control and Clark's blood began sweeping through his veins entirely too fast. 

So he sat beside Lana and Lex, trying not to think about the fact that he was looking at the two people in Smallville he most wanted to make-out with, or sleep with, or do whatever they were willing to do at that exact moment. He tried to keep his thoughts clean, but then, without warning, it was there - the image of Lana smirking seductively and lifting her shirt off over her head, showing him all of that satiny glimpse. Then, the picture of Lex stepping nearer to press those incredible angles against him. 

Clark tried desperately to steer his thoughts elsewhere. Where were the inane questions when he needed them? He tried to wonder if his race had a game like Monopoly, but instead found himself curious about whether or not they all had such keen imaginations because he could hear Lana's playful laugh as she stripped and feel the heat of Lex's body flush against his. And his body responded. 

Why here? Why now? Why in public? He considered crossing his legs as a diversionary tactic, but he never sat like that so it would probably only lead to speculation and eventual, horrible, embarrassing discovery. 

Clark attempted to recall a few of those quotes he'd memorized because they weren't sexy, but then, they made him think of Lex and Lex certainly _was_ so that was no help. Nothing was any help and Lana and Lex still sat there, talking pleasantly to one another, hopefully not noticing that their quiet companion had turned an astonishing shade of red. Did he have so much blood that it could honestly rush both places at once? Everyone he ever fantasized about was here. Except Chloe, he suddenly realized. That was the one thing in his favor. 

"Hey, guys," Chloe greeted, plunking down onto the arm of Lana's chair. "What's up?" Clark's eyes widened momentarily at the awful appropriateness of her innocent question, but then his imagination took over once again. Stripping Lana, warm Lex, and now Chloe sliding her tongue along his jaw line. 

Worse yet, suddenly, all three images converged into one. Lana stripping as Lex pressed hungrily to him and Chloe nipped her teeth at his lips. Clark nearly leapt from his chair and ran full-speed out of the coffeehouse. 

Then, he heard an abrupt breath of laughter. 

Clark looked up to Lex smirking at him. Instantly, he knew that Lex had figured out exactly what he had been thinking, the way he always seemed to. He should have been embarrassed to be caught, but instead he felt his blood begin to peacefully cool. He even managed to breathe again. Slowly, Chloe and Lana talking about the latest issue of the Torch filtered through the thundering in his ears. 

That was the part that people didn't see and that was why they never understood why Clark called Lex his best friend. Lex knew what he was thinking, may even have over-estimated his inventiveness and imagined something far more explicit himself, but he didn't judge him for it. Nor could he really. Clark didn't doubt that Lex had actually participated in such imaginings, most likely with more than just three people, maybe with men and women alike. 

Lex wasn't like Chloe or Lana who would have been embarrassed or even angry that he thought such things. Lex wasn't like his parents who would have understood, but tacked on a life lesson about monogamy just in case. Lex just accepted it and smiled at him. 

And that, among other reasons, was why he was friends with Lex. Once they'd gotten past the incident at the bridge, Lex accepted who he was with no caveats, no questions and no judgments. Had his secret past not been integral to the search, Clark felt certain that he could have gone to Lex with his anatomy worries and would have been met - and answered - with only an amused look. Of course, such a thing wouldn't be possible with their dynamic now, not without it being about touching and exploring and - 

Wrong thought! his mind suddenly screamed at him. Wrong thought! 

"Clark, are you feeling all right?" Chloe asked, another cruel innocent question. Clark tried to answer, he really did, but it came out a clutter of "Uhs" and "Whas," until he managed a barely evolved-man sounding "Yeah." Chloe and Lana both looked at him, confused. 

"I think Clark was just distracted from the conversation, Miss Sullivan," Lex supplied smoothly. 

Lex's seconds-long comment gave Clark just enough time to regroup. "Yeah, I'm fine. I was just, you know, thinking about school." Deep inside, he cursed Lex Luthor and his composed demeanor. And then he wondered if maybe Lex would pay him a little extra pocket money for walking around town, arriving places just five minutes before him to ensure that he would seem impossibly self-possessed by comparison. 

"Well, okay, but school's over," Chloe replied. "You can stop thinking about it now." 

"So says the girl who obsesses over the Torch constantly," Lana teased. 

"That's different. The Torch isn't school. It's my life." 

"We'll all completely ignore how pathetic that sounds," Lana added, nudging Chloe with her elbow. Clark tried not to be weirded out by their budding friendship, but there it was: weirdness. He worried what their two minds came up with to talk about. 

"You know what's really pathetic?" Chloe countered. "The fact that I'm sitting here next to the manager of a coffeehouse and I have yet to be offered a cup of coffee. You should mark that down, Lex." Lex looked archly at Lana. 

"Would you like some coffee, Chloe?" Lana quickly asked, leaping from her chair. 

"I would, thank you," she replied, standing to follow and flashing a triumphant grin, all teeth and shining eyes, at Lex. Clark wished he could feel about her the way he felt about Lana. He certainly found her attractive, though in a way entirely different from Lana. Chloe was earthy and spunky, though he knew both those words weren't good enough for her with her intelligence and determination, not to mention that occasionally truly bizarre fashion sense of hers. 

But sometimes he wanted to thump her upside her head. Why she liked him when Lex...existed didn't make sense. He'd seen them banter, their "verbal judo," as Lex had called it, and Chloe was the only person Clark knew who was fast enough to keep up with Lex's intellect. 

He didn't doubt that it was Chloe's age that kept her from being on Lex's list of ladies to woo, but he knew that Chloe would get older and she would only get wittier and cleverer as she did. Eventually, she would prove irresistible to a man like Lex, a man with his eyes open who had grown bored with women of no substance. If there was one thing Chloe Sullivan didn't lack, it was substance. 

It was a fun daydream, his best friends dating, getting married, but then there was the complication of his attraction to both. Warm Lex, Chloe nibbling. He decided since he had already narrowly avoided disaster once today, he really shouldn't tempt fate by throwing himself back into that fantasy. 

Instead, he looked over at Lex who silently perused the file Lana had handed him. Clark thought to thank him for buying him much needed reclamation-of-mind time before having to answer Chloe, but that would be admitting that his thoughts had strayed to less than pure recreation. Even if Lex suspected it, Clark didn't have to admit it. 

Instead, he quietly sipped the rest of his coffee. He felt calmer now that Lana and Chloe were chatting and giggling a few yards away. He liked them both, enjoyed their company, but they just made him nervous. Maybe it was too much scanning for subtext, or the fact that they both wanted something from him that he wasn't sure he could give, even if he knew what exactly it was. And there was this constant pressure to act _now._

Even though they were teenagers and supposed to think themselves immortal, Clark thought that perhaps they could all sense it growing nearer, the ever-distant point on the horizon: graduation. Once high school was over, they didn't know where they would stand with one another, so there was this urgency to define relationships, to grasp moments in each other's company, to seize the day, as the old saying went, the Latin version of which Clark couldn't remember...something about a fish... 

But Clark never felt that around Lex and he usually chose not to analyze why. If he did, he was afraid he would stumble onto something too immense to handle at the moment, so he kept his thoughts simplistic and surface: He felt no urgency around Lex because there was no urgency. It was as simple as that. 

If he had been of an artistic turn of mind, he might have pictured it like a fast-motion sequence in an independent art house film: he and Lex sitting calmly in the Talon, comfortable and silent, just as they were now, while the rest of the world, the rest of their acquaintances, sped by in colorful blurs, constantly changing. Only he and Lex steady and enduring amid a torrent of time. But even if he never put it into words or imagined a visual metaphor, Clark sensed it. Somehow, some way, Lex Luthor was a permanent fixture in his life. For that reason, they never needed to rush. 

"Did you want a refill, Clark?" Lana asked, walking back over with Chloe. 

He glanced down into his empty cup. "Uh, no, actually. I should really be getting home." 

"I'll drive you," Lex readily offered, closing the file folder. "Lana, have the electrician come in and assess the repairs. I'll look over the estimates." 

"Okay. I'll call tomorrow," Lana said with a nod. "Thanks." 

"You ready, Clark?" he asked, standing from his chair. Clark noted that he was being unusually proactive, but he couldn't figure out why and he wouldn't let himself speculate. 

"Yeah." He turned, following Lex as he walked toward the door. "See you later, Chloe. Bye, Lana." 

He knew both girls said goodbye, but he didn't hear them. At that exact moment, he was more engrossed in admiring the clean lines of Lex's shoulders...and trying not to think about why he was so eager to take him home. 

Clark had ridden in Lex's Porsche before, his Ferrari, too, but it was a small pleasure he rarely took for granted. Riding in a sleek, silver, state-of-the-art Porsche was a standard teenage boy fantasy. Just another wish fulfilled through grants from the generous friendship of Lex Luthor. 

Usually, he made some comment, joked Lex about his sports car fetish, but this time he was too distracted to relax because he knew something Lex didn't: his parents weren't home. They had gone to visit a friend in a neighboring county and wouldn't be back for another hour or so. 

A full day of chores awaited him, but no parents. And if Lex were there to see, those chores weren't going to get done in the ten minutes he had allotted them. He knew he should have been nervous about his father's reaction when he saw they weren't finished, but that was so very far from his mind. Lex was unusually silent, pensive. And Clark really wanted to know what he was thinking. 

For the actual trip to his house, he was granted a reprieve from his curiosity. Lex drove more carefully when he had a passenger, yes, but considering how recklessly he usually drove, it was barely an improvement. Clark distracted himself by trying to figure out how he could protect Lex without exposing his secret if they suddenly flipped into a cornfield as a flaming fireball. 

Sooner than should have been possible at the actual speed limit, they arrived at his house and he still didn't have a solution. He figured there weren't many ways to explain how acting as a shield to an explosion was a logical instinct for a normal human being, not to mention how to explain why it worked. 

"It's quiet around here tonight," Lex commented, putting the car into park. 

Clark swallowed and shrugged. "Yeah, my parents aren't home." Lex's eyes shifted to him. "Would you want to come up, hang out in the loft or something?" He'd said it, so he couldn't take it back and he didn't want to, but he sure wished he had phrased it differently, more maturely. He got the feeling that this was not the time to remind Lex of his age. 

"Sure," he replied, stepping out of the car and tossing the keys in his pocket. 

Clark led the way up the stairs to the barn loft never having felt more aware of his height or the way the toe of his left foot pointed slightly more center than the right. His whole sense of self felt heightened and that wasn't a good thing. He felt unexpectedly gangly and awkward. He felt like a normal teenager. How ironic. Now, of course, he would gladly welcome an alien abnormality like...composure or perhaps heightened powers of seduction. 

He tossed a couple of books and plaid shirts off the couch, clearing space for...well, his imagination really couldn't help him now. It had shorted out at the look Lex had given him on finding out his parents weren't home. There was _something_ in that look. 

"How did things go with Lana today?" Lex asked, sounding cool and calm like he usually did. Curse him. 

"All right, I guess. I didn't see her at school much and I wasn't at the Talon very long before you got there," he answered, familiar with giving the daily tactical report from the Lana-front. 

Lex wandered around the loft, idly looking over the assortment of books and papers that had accumulated over the course of the year's homework assignments. Clark did a quick scan of his memory, hoping that none were too embarrassing. Thankfully, he'd gotten rid of _Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus._ That one was strictly hidden in his bedroom now. 

Clark sat down on the couch. "I think she might have agreed to a date with this guy Andrew from school, though," he continued, trying not to notice as Lex slid a hand in his pants pocket, pushing back his suit coat and exposing his slim waist. 

"Have you given her any reason not to?" 

"No, probably not," he confessed. 

"You can't expect a woman to wait for you unless you've made her understand that you'll be worth her time," Lex explained, his voice measured and serene, which for some reason made Clark even more nervous. He had a running theory: the more relaxed Lex sounded, the less relaxed he truly was. Clark swallowed hard, trying to imagine what situation could make _Lex_ tense. 

"Yeah, well, maybe I'm not," he said, not really listening to himself. 

"You are." Lex continued flipping through the small library of neglected books. "You just have to let her know it." 

"I can't just wait for her to figure it out on her own?" He laughed weakly. They were still talking about Lana, he reminded himself. Lana. Lana. That name sounded distant and hollow in his head with Lex standing right there, looking amazing, exuding that unbelievable confidence. And the room was filled with this tension Clark had never felt before. It was like static in the air or being covered with a heavy blanket and yet, Lex just flipped through the pages of a book like he was unaffected. 

"She's a sixteen year-old girl, Clark," Lex replied, as if that were a self-explanatory answer. 

"Yeah, so?" 

"Sixteen year-old girls are notorious for imagining boys as what they want them to be, not as what they are," he answered sagely. Clark had to admit, that made some sense. 

He stood from the couch and walked over to the book-laden table where Lex hovered. "I don't think I can be who she wants me to be." Turning pages, Lex's hand tensed for only a fraction of a second when he stepped near. It wasn't a declaration of any sort, but it was as much proof as he could hope to get. Lex wasn't unaffected at all. 

"Nor should you," he said, his voice still calm where his body had betrayed him. "I wouldn't suggest that, but you also shouldn't make her to wait to find out if you're worth waiting for. 'Delays have dangerous ends.'" 

_Delays have dangerous ends._ That sounded familiar, but why? Slowly, it dawned on Clark: he could picture it, he _knew_ that quote. He had memorized it. "Shakespeare," he uttered, sounding surprised himself. And the look Lex gave him was as priceless as he had hoped. 

The books forgotten, Lex turned to him, his expression quizzical and admiring. Clark smiled, beaming his too-high-wattage smile and trying not to care. He had done it! He had known one of Lex's highbrow, intellectual quotes! 

Lex breathed a laugh and smiled. "I wasn't aware you were that familiar with Shakespeare." 

"Well, you know," Clark said, feeling pretty cool, "I dabble." 

"Dabble?" Lex's smirk contorted as if he were trying to keep it small and elusive while wanting to grin as brightly as Clark always did. "Now, see, that's something Lana should know." 

"Probably," Clark replied, but he couldn't even picture Lana right now. He felt his smile slowly fade and he swallowed uncomfortably. His limbs felt tense and anxious. He didn't know what he was thinking. In fact, he suspected his mind had become a great empty space, because he couldn't think of anything, anything at all. His eyes flitted to Lex's lips and he tried to pull them back and look elsewhere. He tried to focus on Lex's shoulder and the crease of the collar on his suit coat, the fine stitching, but his gaze was continually drawn to Lex's mouth and that small white scar on his upper lip. 

That was when he noticed that Lex's smile had also disappeared. Clark stood still, trying not to shift back and forth on his feet nervously. Lex locked his eyes on his, his look deadly serious. "This won't help," he whispered. 

"What?" 

But Lex never answered. Instead, he slid one hand around Clark's head, threading his fingers through his hair, and angled his lips to softly meet his. Clark had imagined a hundred different ways, but all one hundred fell drastically short of reality. Lex's mouth moved slowly against his. His hands clutched gently to Clark's neck, holding their mouths together, his fingers cool and steady against his skin. 

Smooth chest against smooth chest. And how strange to not have to slouch to kiss someone. With Lex, he had only to tilt his head down. Clark could feel his heart pounding, and his arms trembled with the forceful rush of blood. He didn't know what to do with his hands or his body. He was only dimly aware they still existed as Lex claimed his bottom lip between his, his own top lip pressing to that small, perfect scar. 

They separated, Lex's fingers still woven through Clark's hair, and Lex smiled, shrugging lightly. "Not bad," he breathed. But for once, his casual demeanor wasn't working; Clark could see straight through him and he didn't even need x-ray vision. Lex felt everything he felt: the tension, the unexplainable connection, the complete lack of urgency - and the worn sense of confusion lacing it all together. He was not callous. He was not distant. He was here - and his heart was pounding, too. 

Lex pulled their mouths together once more, his tongue sliding against Clark's upper lip. Clark inhaled sharply as his mouth fell open and Lex's tongue brushed against his. He wasn't wrong; Lex _was_ the one to show him how a kiss should really feel. His hands independently decided they could no longer be inactive. One tentatively reached forward to touch Lex's waist, fingers pressing gently against the fabric of his dress shirt. Smooth silk over firm muscles. That was definitely a sensation he could get used to. 

And that's when Clark figured out what Lex had meant. _This won't help._ They had both been working on the hypothesis that, if they simply indulged this unusual attraction, it would go away. But now, feeling Lex pressed against him, hearing the soft guttural moans that escaped his throat, Clark understood that this really _wasn't_ going to help. It wasn't going to satiate their desire for one another - it was only going to help them identify exactly what to crave. 

Suddenly, Lex stepped away from him. Lust made Clark feel blurry around the edges as he tried to figure out why he'd stopped. Then he heard tires grinding over gravel. 

His parents were home. 

"Clark?" his father called. "Are you in here?" 

Abruptly panicked, his mind returned to painful sharpness. To be found in his loft kissing a man, let alone a man his father hated; it was a bad scene all around. He glanced at Lex who stood still, the back of his hand to his mouth, carefully rebuilding his faade. Clark envied him, but was also incredibly thankful. If both of them acted suspicious then they were in real trouble. 

"Yeah, Dad," he called, his voice sounding a few octaves above normal. "I'm up here." 

His father appeared below them. "Oh, hello, Lex." Instantly, he put on his Luthor frown. 

"Hello, Mr. Kent," Lex replied, perfectly composed. Clark had never admired him more. 

"Clark, did you get any of your chores done?" 

"No, Dad. I'm sorry," he answered, fidgeting. "I just got back from the Talon and Lex and I were...hanging out. I didn't think you'd be home for a while." 

His father looked decidedly unhappy and glanced at Lex. No doubt he thought the unfinished chores were also the fault of the Luthor family. "I want all those chores finished before you go to bed tonight," he said. "Now, come inside and help your mother with dinner." 

"Oh, can Lex stay for dinner?" 

The minute the words were out of his mouth, Clark wanted to slap himself. Very smooth, Clark, he thought. Now who's the sixteen year-old girl? He could almost hear Lex smirking beside him. And his father looked as if he wanted to emphatically shout "No!" 

"That's all right, Clark," Lex interjected. "I should be going anyway." He moved toward the stairs. Clark tried to think of some excuse to get his dad to leave the barn for just five minutes so he and Lex could...what? Say goodbye properly maybe. He wasn't sure really, but he knew he didn't want him to leave yet. 

But Lex made it to the barn floor before his mind had given him even a hint of what to say to stop it. Of course, _then_ his dad left, as if it were any good to them now. 

Before he walked out, Lex stopped and looked up. "See you later, Clark," he said with a glint in his eyes. 

Clark beamed. "Bye, Lex." 

* * *

The sputtering clunk of a tractor motor broke through the morning silence and Clark opened his eyes. 

Lex kissed me. 

Only when he realized that the thought was different than usual did the original come back to him. He was an alien, yes, but for one whole second, he'd forgotten. He breathed a surprised chuckle. Well, what do you know? 

Lex kissed me. 

Clark's mind felt locked on what had happened the night before, and his body remembered it. He licked his lips and imagined they still tingled, even though they probably didn't. 

However, a quieter, much more serious part of his mind had awakened as well. A part that had nothing to say but warnings and premonitions. A part that warned him that whatever existed between he and Lex was far bigger than the both of them and that what he had mistaken for simplicity was actually intricacy. The intertwining subtleties and intensities were so small and so dense that he couldn't see them, but they were there and they were many. Dimly, somewhere deep in his mind, Clark realized that this relationship could get very complicated and very messy. 

He also realized he didn't care. 

Lex kissed me. 

Then, the questions began. Did his race have anything like a tractor? Would his biological parents even know what a farm was? Would they grow vegetables and things like that? Or maybe on their planet, they could grow animals. 

Would all of his race be so attracted to Lex or was it just him?... 

* * *

The end 

Please, oh, please review! It'd be greatly appreciated. 


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